


Not Your Fault

by towardthesun



Series: See The Turtle [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angsty Bill Denbrough, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, The losers just want to protect Bill okay?, nothing too bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 15:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18143852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towardthesun/pseuds/towardthesun
Summary: Bill was always strong. He never wavered, never stopped to think about saving himself. There was a reason they chose him as their leader.All of that doesn't change the fact that he's just a kid, a grieving lost kid who just wanted his brother back. Kneeling in the dirty greywater of the sewer, Bill finally breaks. Luckily his friends are there to pick up the pieces.





	Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> So....This is the first writing I've ever posted. I mean I've written all sorts of things, but I never posted any of it. Anyway I hope you enjoy this, it can be looked at as pre-poly losers club or just friendship. If I decide to continue with this universe it will eventually end up being poly losers club so heads up. Also *minor warning for gore* it's not a lot but if you want to skip right to the bottom notes I'll let you know what it is. Thank you and enjoy!

_He thrusts his fists against the post, and still insists he sees the ghosts_

Richie didn’t know if any of the other’s knew exactly what that rhyme meant to Bill, but he did. He knew, and the fact that IT was saying that now only made the boy hate IT just a little more than he already did. Richie watched as Bill hefted the metal pipe up onto his shoulder, ready to deliver the final blow to the demon who had been torturing their town for centuries. The clown flinched, then smiled, its head starting to disintegrate into the air.

“Fear,” IT whispered, sending trills down each of the loser’s spines. 

Then it was gone. The clown threw itself down the well, and as quickly as it had came it was gone. The adrenaline running through Rich's veins pulsed in time with his racing heart, causing his fingers to shake and his mind to run. He wanted to jump around, screech wildly in joy, and never stop crying all at the same time. Instead, he let the baseball bat slip out of his fingers and turned to the others.

"I know what I'm writing for my summer experience essay," He joked, shoving trembling fingers in the pockets of his dirty destroyed jeans. He waited for one of them to say something, beep beep richie, but none of them did. They were all enamoured by a sight behind the boy. He turned around slowly, expecting the monster to somehow have returned. It couldn't have been that easy, not for their motley little crew. His mind filled in the blank for him. IT was back, not as a clown this time, but as a thirty foot tall dragon. A monstrous creature with bloodied claws and fangs ready to eat the seven of them whole. It wasn't the monster though... it was-

"The kids," Eddie said, his words cutting off Richie’s fast flying thoughts, "They're all floating down," It was the kids. From the light above their broken bodies, they looked like shadows or ghosts, ebbing and bobbing in the air. Gravity seems to increase on them by the second, and they were beginning their final descent back to the earth. Richie turned away after a few seconds of looking, he couldn't watch this. He didn't want to see Betty Ripsom wide unseeing eyes. He didn't want to know what Georgie Denbrough looked like after nearly a year of being dead. He looked at the others instead, safe and alive and as whole as they could possibly be after their experiences. 

Then something caught his eye, a patch of bright yellow in the doom and gloom of the sewer. He recognized it immediately, having seen the stupid little kid wearing the item a hundred times over the years. Richie's stomach clenched and his hands tightened into fists. Bill had noticed too, and it was too late to try and stop him. The taller boy pulled away from Bev and shambled over to the torn yellow cloth, picking his way carefully around the mound of broken childhood dreams. Richie began to follow him, knowing the inevitable was to come. 

Bill fell to his knees in the dirty water, pulling the jacket from where it was caught on a tricycle. Richie was standing right behind him and could clearly make out the words GEORGIE DENBROUGH printed in neat block letters on the tag of the jacket. Just like when they had found the shoe with B RIPSOM written inside, Richie’s body went cold then boiling. 

Bill ran his thumb along the words, a soft wounded noise barely audible over the running water behind them. Richie knelt next to his best friend, not caring that the disgusting puddle of grey water they were in was getting in his cuts and stinging. He put his hand on Bill's back, just as the other boy's walls finally broke down. 

Bill's sobs echoed across the length of the room, hoarse and almost pitiful. Eddie came up to Bill's other side, putting his head on Bill's shaking shoulders. As he let his head fall forward to rest against all he had left of his brother, the others slowly made their way over, each getting to their knees to place a hand somewhere on their leader. Beverly was next to Richie, one of her hands firmly in his and the other on Bill's back. Stan had taken the side next to Eddie, his forehead against Bill's. Richie could just make out the comforting hushes he was making. Mike and Ben were in front of Bill, and Richie couldn't exactly see what they were doing. As Bill continued to let his grief finally burst forth, the others all shared a look above his head

He had been strong for all of them before. He had come up with all the ideas, given all the speeches. He had sacrificed himself without a single thought when it had come down to it. Richie knew if he had been in Bill's shoes, being drooled on by a literal demon from hell, he would have been wailing like a fucking baby. Richie never would have agreed to let himself be taken to his death by the monster, but Bill hadn't even hesitated. He had told them all to run, even ended up apologizing to them for dragging them all into this in the first place. Bill had always been strong, but now it was their turn to be strong for him. 

"This wasn't your fault," Stan whispered, his hand coming up to the back of Bill's neck and forcing him to turn his head, "Look at me. This was not your fault."

"That's n-n-n-n-not t-tr-tr-true," He managed to scrape out, his stutter even worse than before due to his tears, "I...I"

"Not your fault," Ben chimed in, "It's not," 

Richie caught onto their plan and whispered the same words, letting his head fall onto Bill's other shoulder.

_Not your fault._

He knew better than the rest how much blame Bill took. He shouldered responsibility like it was a regular backpack, and never complained about how heavy it got. Blame for my brother's death? Another textbook. Parents won't even look at you anymore? Just a composition notebook. Dragging the only friends you have into a crack house and nearly getting them all killed? That one was a folder stuffed to the brim with past mistakes. It didn't matter how overstuffed his bookbag became, Bill Denbrough would shoulder it anyway. He didn't know how not to. Now it was time for the rest of them to start taking that weight off. 

They each began to whisper it, each saying the words over and over. Not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault. Bill broke down into sobs again, clutching the jacket and shaking his head. He couldn't hear that, couldn't handle not having the weight of the world on him anymore. They all pulled impossibly closer to each other, hugging themselves around Bill and repeating the words over and over. He wouldn't believe them tonight, and maybe not tomorrow, but one day Richie could hope that he would. As the last of the children finished their final float to the sewer floor, the loser's club kneeled in the dirty water, protecting their leader from the world around him. 

Richie didn’t know how long they stayed huddled together, but by the time they began to pull away from one another, Bill had stopped crying. His breath was still shaking, but the tears had dried on his cheeks. He rubbed at the tracks the tears had made, still clinging to Georgie’s rain jacket. 

“Wh-what now?” Bill asked, turning to look at the bodies on the ground. They all did the same, and Richie saw the sight he had been so desperately avoiding before. Betty Ripsom was lying not fifteen feet away from them. It wasn’t terrifying or disgusting like he had thought it would be. Looking at her only made him sad. 

She seemed small in death, a girl who had been so energetic in life. When the two of them had been in classes together, teachers had groaned and prayed to whatever god they believed in. Any moment Richie wasn’t making some stupid comment, Betty was interjecting with her own smartass mouth. They had bonded in the long hours of after school detention. Now she was silent, her eyes mercifully shut tightly. Richie craned to get a closer look at her, then pulled back and buried his face in Bill’s chest. Nausea ate at his stomach from the sight he had just seen

Betty Ripsom was missing the lower half of her body. There were crude bite marks across her stomach, and the stark white of her bones poked out from the gore and blood. He struggled to keep down the meager amount of breakfast he had eaten this morning, his entire body trembling from exertion. There were fingers in his hair, and Bill turned his body to fully face Richie.

“It’s over,” Bill spit out, pushing his hands through Richie’s curls, “J-just breathe now,”

And just like that Big Bill was back. He had his moment of weakness and allowed them to comfort him, but he would never allow it for long. Being a leader was what he was good at, and the leader was the strength in the weakness. The light in the dark. Bill scratched his fingers against Richie’s scalp once more, then stood up. 

“L-let’s get ou-out of h-h-here,” They all stood and began the walk out of the sewer, avoiding direct eye contact with the murdered corpses around them. Bill led the group out of the room, Georgie’s ran slicker pressed firmly against his chest. Richie trailed close behind him, keeping his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at Betty again. He wouldn’t be able to hold his stomach back if he did. 

They walked out of the room, and as they did they fell into a natural line. Bill in the front, Richie tailing him, Eddie not far behind, Beverly in the middle, then Mike, then Stan, Ben taking up the rear. Bill’s hand, the one not holding onto Georgie’s jacket, reached out behind him blindly. Richie took it in his own, giving his other to Eddie who clutched him tightly. One by one they began to connect to one another, until the seven of them were more than just seven. 

They were one unit, a bond that would never be broken, even when they eventually let go of one another. It was a feeling that had begun months ago in the rock fight of the century, and was cemented in the pitch black of the sewer. They couldn’t see where they were going, but they didn’t need to see. They had something better than sight. They had each other. 

Their journey was mostly silent, the only voice was Ben’s as he called out when Bill would take a right or a left. No one knew how Ben knew which way to go, or how from the end of the line he knew when Bill would need to take the turns, but they didn’t ask. On some level they already knew the answer. 

Richie just focused on the palms against his palms. Bill’s hand was cold, his fingers freezing. Eddie was warm, probably too warm. Richie was surprised his arm hadn’t broken again in the panic of the fight against IT. Then again Eddie had always been made of stronger stuff than anybody ever gave him credit for. 

Ben gave one final instruction, then light flooded their vision. They each winced at the sudden change, but none of them let go of each other. They had reached the sewer in the Barrens. It was night time by then, but the sewer was flooded with red and blue lights. The police were here.

“Oh shit,” Richie heard himself speaking before he even knew he opened his mouth, “How the fuck are we supposed to explain all of this to the cops?!”

“Together,” Mike answered automatically, and a pulse went through their connected palms. Bill turned back to look at all of them, and for the first time in a long time, a smile was on his lips. It was small, pathetically small, but there all the same.

“Together,” he agreed, turning back to face the world, “R-ready?”

The losers each nodded, tightening their grips in the wake of what was to come. Bill nodded himself, then took a deep breath. Before they could lose their nerve he walked forward, bringing them out of the dark and into the light.

**Author's Note:**

> MINOR GORE WARNING: Richie describes what Betty Ripsom's body looks like after Pennywise has eaten a bit of her. There are also mentions of Georgie obviously and Bill's feelings about that.


End file.
